


eyes closed, it's the dark

by fated_addiction



Category: Korean Drama, Vampire Geomsa | Vampire Prosecutor
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fated_addiction/pseuds/fated_addiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sinks. She swims. And builds the boat, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	eyes closed, it's the dark

**Author's Note:**

> Incredibly general spoilers for episode seven.

She's still pissed.

If you knew her, you wouldn't be surprised.

 

-

 

 

He finds her, of course. Min Tae-Yeon doesn't like loose ends. This is what makes him the best. Yoo believes too much in a learning curve anyway. She doesn't know what that makes her just yet.

"You're still here."

Her pen tip snaps. "I'm busy."

"Doing?"

"Prepping?" She steals the same, sanctimonious tone from him. Her pen slides into her mouth. "What I'm supposed to do," she says too.

"Hn."

Yoo lifts her gaze. He grabs the back of the chair next to her. It shuffles against the floor. He doesn't look at her either. She knows that it's all deliberate with him.

There are no reprimands anyway. She acts instinctively. Some of it - a _real_ part of it is all frustration. She wonders if he wants to wait to pick that battle. But it's all curiosity with her and when his past settles in front of all of them, all pieces and parts, she just doesn't want to look away.

He seems steady in his seat. She goes back to writing. Her fingers drum against the file in front of her. He stays quiet.

"So you're just going to watch."

Min chuckles. She doesn't need to look at him.

"It's late," he says finally. Yoo hears it: the curl of his lip, the shift in his voice, and it's easy to know his gaze too.

"You're late," she shoots back.

"I know." His fingers are too long. They catch at the file. Just at the crux of her hand. She stares. "I had to wrap things up."

"You should go home."

His voice is dry. "I should do a lot of things."

Yoo hears it. Her fingers shove the file forward and then she is so, so angry suddenly, her throat tightening. It's rage at how stupidly he acts. Prosecutor Min will take on the world with his fists and wits and that impulsive, tight smile of his. And she wants to wring his neck. All the time. Well, now. Really. Right _now_.

"You're an idiot," she's blunt, and he laughs, low. When she meets his gaze, her hair is in her eyes and he's smiling, or smirking - it's hard and sharp and all the same.

"Is that all?" he leans forward, chin on his hand. The bandages peek out from under his palm and she feels irrational.

"Right now." Her mouth purses tightly. "I'm sure you'll do something else that will make me want to kick you in the face."

"Looking forward to that day."

His gaze is hooded. That stupid smirk-smile is still there. She licks her lips now. They're talking circles.

"Did she -"

He doesn't move. "You did your part," he murmurs.

"I remained objective," she mutters, flushing.

"Mmm." He turns his head. "This isn't about objectivity," he says. "You have your past too."

She looks away. Gangsters and such, a Daddy's girl through and through. There is a level of violence that uncurls in the back of her throat with a lot of strange memories. They aren't to share, she thinks. She doesn't know how she'd tell him; it's just easier with the brunt of her knuckles and the sharp, silver tongue of her impulsivity.

"That's fair," she says quietly. She pinches her nose. She grabs a fistful of her hair and pulls it back. The elastic around her wrist snaps.

He pushes his chair back. His hand catches her elbow. She doesn't freeze. She stares ahead at the table and feels his fingers curl, just slightly, over her jacket. Intentional, unintentional - she doesn't want to think so hard and make it matter. She swallows.

Min stand.

She closes the file. And lets this one go.

 

-

 

 

Except he shows up to her apartment.

He shows up to her apartment and there is blood on his shirt. It's a perfectly sound fabric and she stares at the spot like it's offensive.

"Are you -" Her mouth feels dry. "What _happened_?"

Her eyes are huge too. He steps around her, all long and tall and sharp into the corners. She heaves a sigh, throwing her hands up. He walks down the narrow hallway and then peeks into the nooks of her living room and kitchen. His eyes seem wild. Then he blinks.

Yoo clears her throat.

Min sighs. "I'm fine."

"I didn't ask that." She frowns. Later, she'll just call herself stupid. He's in her space. She's territorial. Her hand fists in his shirt. She pulls at the fabric. It's damp. Her fingers jerk back.

"What happened?" she asks again.

He stares. Why her? She doesn't draw back. Instead she rocks onto her heels. A million different things race through her mind.

He grabs her hand. His thumb curls into her palm. She swallows, but she can't meet his gaze.

"You're all right."

Her mouth slips. "You're not."

"Ah, Jung-In." He's softer, the bite of his lip as he drops her hand. His fingers catch her jaw though. They graze her lip too. "Windows? Doors? It's dark in here."

"Your office is a cave," she mutters. "Or the cave - you pick."

"I like my cave."

Her eyes roll. "It's still a cave."

He almost smiles. She knows. It doesn't quite reach him, or her, and she swallows back her lack of trust too.

"I cut myself," he offers.

"In the dark?"

Min smirks. He lets out a breath, a laugh, maybe. She can't tell.

"In the dark," he says. He flicks his fingers against her forehead and she scowls.

"But you're here," she says.

And she thinks she means it. Or doesn't. It still doesn't answer why he's here. Her eyes are drawn to the stain.

"You're not hurt." Her mouth moves. She reaches forward, looping her fingers through the hole. She plucks at it. "Why is there blood?"

Her nails graze his skin. There's the plastic feel of a bandage. To the right. She frowns.

"You keep doing that," he says.

"What?"

His fingers press against her forehead and he leans in, forcing her to watch the wide scope of his eyes. They're bright. Her breath catches.

" _What_?" she asks again, her voice pitched high. It's a little breathless. She wets her lips too.

It's like circles, all of it, and she can sort of tastes all the questions she really has, her head pulling back to all the little nuisances she knows. Each crime scene. Soon-Bum half-in, half-out in all these secrets. Maybe she's jealous. Maybe it's close to that too. Maybe it's outside that point already; she wouldn't be surprised.

"I need you to pay attention." His voice is soft.

"I pay attention."

His mouth twist. His fingers move to the crown of her forehead. He catches the wisps of her bangs. "You do," he nods, slightly. "I need you to keep doing it." And then, off-handedly, she hears it under his breath: "all of you."

"You have too many secrets," she mutters.

His fingers are still walking back against her forehead, too gentle to mean anything. Part of her wonders if she's making too much of smaller pieces. Sometimes it's all about the smaller pieces.

"It adds character."

She blinks. "Did you just make a joke?"

He smirks. She bites back a groan.

"I should go," he says, and then his hand drops - abruptly. It's always abrupt.

She's just pissed again.

It's unsettling. It's about how sudden it hits her either; Jung-In, always with the sharp claw of a tongue. She feels that anger though, taunt and hot, rolling in her belly. Her fists clench. It's the frustration of not being able to solve something. It's a missing answer. Her lips pull together. Her teeth sink.

Like always, he watches. Waiting.

"I wanna hit you," she says. Or blurts. It all feels the same. "I didn't forget - you're not going to tell me."

"Sorry."

"You're not an idiot either." She states a fact. This would happen in the office too. Yoo swears she hears a breath and a laugh.

"Quick to judge," he murmurs. He stares. Then he steps back. "Like me."

She steps forward. "Not like you," she says.

He smiles. Not a full one, but enough for her to know that it's a smile, one of _those_ smiles, and all she wants to do is stop watching those smiles, those stupid things, because really, if she's honest, all she wants to do is frustrate him just as much as he frustrates her.

Min says a polite goodbye though. It doesn't completely register. The light in the hallway goes on. Her eyes feel a little heavy, but that's no different than struggling for coffee in the morning. When she moves, she's fast. It's a few short steps and then she's throwing open the door, dropping out into the hallway.

He turns and sees her at the elevator. The doors open.

"Go to bed," he calls.

"Shut up." Her mouth almost pouts. She meets him as the doors close. "Shut up," she says again.

She's not good at this. That's a preface. Her fingers are fisting through his jacket. She yanks him forward. She sees it in his gaze, there, like always.

_think_

So she doesn't think.

She kisses him first.

 

 

He tastes like nothing.

The elevator doors open again. The light in the hall flickers and it rings in her ears. She still can't decide.

It's more than nothing though. Or a lot like she thought he'd taste - somewhat sharp, a bit wet, mouth soft enough to make her feel full of nonsense.

The rest of it is slow. He bites lightly at her lip. Her palms frame his face. They're shaky too. Her fingers flex. She flicks her tongue against his teeth. But he's the one that sighs into her mouth.

"No," he says. It sounds like: "I can't stop you."

"I really don't care," she breathes, and his hand slides over her hip.

This won't go anywhere, she decides.

Except he keeps her close. It's a slight pause. It's the _slightest_ pause. His mouth leaves hers. It presses and lingers at the pulse of her throat. Her breath catches. Her hands are at her sides again.

He meets her gaze. His fingers touch his mouth. He laughs softly, turning. He takes a step. Then another. Then one more.

"Stop and watch," he says. His back faces her. Yoo curls her arms at her chest and tightly. "That's what I've learned. Stop and watch."

It's not an answer.

But this is Prosecutor Min.

 

-

 

Choi screws up the coffee in the morning. This is routine. She isn't coy enough to bring two.

Instead she sits in the corner of the conference room, watching Hwang and Choi unravel in their own personal circus - or drama, it really depends on the day - cupping her coffee close.

" - practically married!" Choi shouts, and really, Yoo decides she just doesn't want to know.

Min is late. Then he's in view. Impeccably dressed, all his creases in place, quiet enough to sneak past Hwang and his waving arms, Choi as he ducks past with apologies, and quiet enough to stop and stare.

"What?" she asks.

"Coffee," he says and makes it to the stairs. He's on the third and his hands slide into his pockets. "New place?" he asks too. 

She waits and stares and tries to see that hole in his shirt. She tries not to touch her mouth. Or want to. Pay attention, he said.

She takes a sip of her coffee. It cools against her tongue. "I'm still pissed," she says.

In her head, it's all still there.


End file.
